


Prologue: How It All Started

by Usedtobehmc



Series: Life After the War [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Assisted Suicide, Blood, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:04:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usedtobehmc/pseuds/Usedtobehmc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first interaction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prologue: How It All Started

**Author's Note:**

> I wouldn't say that the Sniper and Spy I write are OC's because they look and sound exactly like they do in the game. I've tried to keep their canon histories in mind but of course, everything else is completely from my imagination. 
> 
> This story is about Lawrence and René.

The other team's Spy had a ghastly mean streak in him.  Instead of killing the Sniper, he left the poor man bleeding out behind the spawn where no one would find him.

Or so he thought.  

The team was fairly new; René had been one of the first hired and they had only started fighting as a complete team about two weeks prior.  They were all still getting used to dying regularly and being reanimated in perfect fighting shape by the strange, re-spawn technology.  To say it was an adjustment period was grossly understating it.  

As odd as it sounded, getting blown to pieces by a rocket or a bomb or having your head blown off by a powerful, high-speed bullet were the preferable ways to go.  It meant an instant and painless death.  

Being stabbed or riddled with bullets were near the bottom of the list.  It was agony, powerful and overwhelming and it seemed to last forever before you died and could be taken by re-spawn.  The re-spawn technology didn't care if you were close to death, or sure to die, or mangled terribly beyond recognition and as-good-as-dead.  Only real dead counted and triggered the mysterious process.  

So when the enemy spy cornered Sniper outside of their own spawn and stabbed him in the chest, he did it knowing full well that Sniper would be entirely out of the fight for as long as it took him to expire.  

He was a clever bastard.

But René found his teammate mere minutes after it had happened.  He recognized his counterpart's handiwork immediately and murmured a curse.  

Sniper lay on his back in the dirt, pale as a ghost and bathed in a sheen of sweat that darkened his uniform.  His breathing sounded wretched and painful, feeble little gulps of air that went down hard and came back out wet.  His tinted sunglasses lay smashed by his head, clearly stepped on and crushed by an expensive, Italian shoe.  Sniper's eyes were unfocused and bleary and tight with pain.  

René absolutely detested the other Spy for this.  It was cowardly and cruel… and it reminded him of too many things from his past that he tried every day to forget.  He put out his cigarette and knelt by the sniper.  "Mon ami, this will take a long time without a bullet."

Sniper barely heard him.  "Y- yeah.  I know.  I can't… I can't see.  It's dark."

"Your body is shutting down.  Have you not died slowly yet?  It is quite common to lose your vision before it happens."

"Usually… a bomb.  Or… headshot.  Never this slow.  Awful."  Sniper shook his head slowly and René hated to see him look so sad.  The Australian seemed nice enough, if a bit quiet and anti-social.  But always polite and professional, not too loud or crass like their other teammates.  Good at his job.  

"We need you in this fight, mon ami.  Allow me to get you back to the task at hand."  Spy pulled his revolver out from his jacket.

"Yeah.  Thank-you."  His gasps came quicker and shallower in anticipation.  To Spy's surprise, Sniper lifted his left hand, reaching for him.  

Spy clasped Sniper's left hand with his left and held the gun's cold, steel  barrel to the prone man's forehead.  "You won't feel it."  Spy assured him as his finger tightened on the trigger.

The loud bang that followed was a relief.  Spy released a lungful of air he didn't realize he was holding in, and held onto the sniper's hand until the re-spawn had claimed him; leaving only a patch of disturbed dirt behind.

Spy returned to the battle and didn't run into the Sniper again until dinner time in the mess hall.  They'd never had a real conversation before.  In fact, that brief exchange of words on the battlefield was the most they'd ever spoken to each other.  

Sniper approached him when dinner was winding down and offered him a small, thin box, saying only, "For today."  Then he retreated back to his camper van or wherever he chose to spend his nights.  

Spy opened the box and within it were two high-quality, imported cigars from Bolivia.  Beautifully crafted and they smelled divine.  Spy was briefly confused, he was under the impression that the Sniper did not smoke… but many men enjoyed a fine cigar every once in a while.    
  
He smiled and tucked the box into his pocket.  He ignored the twinge in his chest and the red flag in his brain that scolded him for feeling even a mote of affection for another human being.    
  
  
  
  
tbc


End file.
